


talking to the moon

by heyitsbabz



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not A Fix-It, The Author Regrets Everything, The Death Cure Spoilers, i don't mention frypan but i love him, just a lot of angst basically, thomas misses newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 04:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsbabz/pseuds/heyitsbabz
Summary: Paradise,he was out of the bed and out of the hut without realizing it, his legs working on autopilot while the same, constant thought passed his mind.What kind of Paradise is this if Newt isn’t here?





	talking to the moon

**Author's Note:**

> hey friendos, this is my first ever newtmas fic. i know, i know, it's wild and about freaking time. it's probably been written 73937 different ways, but i hope you like it.
> 
> i also created a newtmas playlist to listen to whilst i wrote, so if ya want to listen to it, you can do so [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/heyitsbabz/playlist/17cUIKJK8y38NwCEYee4A1?si=8y5IQ6_GSQeMsBCvOUvPww)

Thomas could never sleep peacefully through the night like some people surrounding his small hut could. He’d always find himself jackknifing into a sitting position, a gasp of a name getting caught in his throat, his heart racing in tandem with the distant crashing of the waves—the sound grounds him back to reality. He’s always quickly reminded of where he was now.

The Safe Haven. _Paradise_.

The word echoed in his mind distastefully, a snarl of disbelief that clouds his mind more often than not. It’s not that Thomas didn’t like it here, it’s that he wasn’t really _here_. He felt more like a ghost, a shell of himself doing everything he was supposed to do during the day, faking his happiness and calm demeanour only to find himself miserable at night all over again. It's a vicious cycle he's created, but he knows he isn't alone in it. He’s heard Minho sobbing from his own hut more times than he can count on his hands and Minho always went above and beyond to seem cheerful around their small, but gradually expanding camp.

So when he found himself jerking awake, a small whimper passing his lips, he’s not surprised. The jarring nightmares plagued him, they’d took over his dreams ever since they’d all escaped the last city. He wasn't the only one who suffered with night terrors, not by a long shot, but he felt so ostracized from all his friends, his _family,_ when it came to this because they didn’t understand. They didn’t understand that he can’t just get over the events that happened, he can't grieve and mourn the losses they endured and move on like everyone else seemingly had.

He can't.

 _Paradise_ , he was out of the bed and out of the hut without realizing it, his legs working on autopilot while the same, constant thought passed his mind. _What kind of Paradise is this if Newt isn’t here?_

He’s making his way over to the stone, not caring that his bare feet were getting roughed up by the rocks on the path. Pain meant he was alive, right? Alive and breathing, and barely existing. Thomas was damn certain that if he were dead, he’d be rid of all these suffocating emotions he constantly felt. Maybe he’d even be with Newt—he’d get to apologize. He’d get to tell him everything he never got the chance to say.

 _“Tommy, kill me!_ ” Newt’s shout rang in his head, the nightmare reliving the worst day of his life still fresh in his memory, not that it would disappear any time soon. Thomas shook his head when the image of Newt pressing the gun to his temple rose to the forefront, blood and spit dripping down his chin, and Thomas stopped walking, eyes squeezing shut.

Thomas thought of _his_ Newt; not the one that had slowly lost himself to the Flare and begged Thomas to kill him. _I want you to know that I'm not scared. Well, not of dying, anyway. It's losing myself to this virus, that's what scares me._

Hefelt a shiver roll up his spine, his blood running cold as the words resonated in his head, and instead shook himself off from the feeling, thinking of the first time he met Newt; their first campfire in the glade, the way Newt trusted his leadership, but called him out when he needed it, always keeping him in check and making sure he was okay. He thought of the six months the two spent curled around each other, whispering all their worries about getting Minho back only to have the other reassure them that everything would work out. He thought of Newt telling him they needed to take whatever chance they had to rescue Minho, determined and unwavering, not knowing that it would cost him his life.

Thomas thought of Newt’s letter, worn and frayed at the edges, the papers barely keeping themselves from ripping with the amount of time Thomas spent reading and re-reading it, over and over, until his heart hurt with every sob that shook his body.

He opened his eyes and continued walking forward, the stone only a few feet away from him now. He felt the tears blurring his view, felt them falling effortlessly onto his cheeks, but he doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of the memorial the Safe Haven created for all their lost friends and family.

_And I remember you._

_From the first time you came up in the box, just a scared little Greenie who couldn’t even remember his own name. But from that moment you ran into the Maze, I knew I would follow you anywhere._

_And I have._

Thomas reached out, his trembling fingers tracing Newt’s name gently, like the entire stone would disappear if he pressed too hard.

“You didn't, though,” Thomas said, voice barely above a whisper, but cracking nonetheless. “You didn't follow me here.”

He pressed his palm flat against the stone, leaning his forehead against it as he bit his lip to stop his broken sobs from escaping his mouth. Nobody needed to be woken up because he was inconsiderate with how loud his crying was. Everyone had had long days building up their camp, going on supply runs, making sure everything was going accordingly; Thomas wasn't special, if anything he was _expendable_. Though, he figured, everyone had a role to play in keeping their Safe Haven functional.

Taking in a shuddering breath, he traced Newt’s name one last time before he headed down to the beach, his chest feeling heavy, a weight settling on it time and time again. It reminded him that he wasn’t okay, that he was _broken._ His toes sunk into the sand, his body moving closer to the water before he was dropping to his knees, a gasp escaping his chapped lips, desperately trying to get air into his lungs.

It’s not his first panic attack, but it doesn't stop the hopeful thought of _maybe this will finally kill me_ from lurking somewhere deep inside his head, between his incessant need to gasp in breaths and clutch at the collar of his ripped white shirt where the necklace he'd been given dangled down—as if that'll solve the problem.

 _Deep breaths, Tommy, come on, breathe with me, yeah?_ He heard Newt saying, wind ghosting his neck and phantom fingers running along his back. _In and out, Tommy. In_. _Out. In. Out. Good, that’s good, Tommy. In. And out._

Thomas followed the instructions the familiar voice he craved to hear again gave him, mouth forming words to tell him before he stopped himself, focusing on his breathing until his heart slowed. The tears continued to flow, but he was finally able to orient himself and sit back on his legs, glancing out into the ocean in front of him. Newt had always helped him when he had panic attacks back when they were out in the scorch, and now he was hallucinating him being here as a coping mechanism.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. At least he got to hear his voice clearly, and not the one that shouted at him in crank-filled rage. He’d been forgetting the sound of it, the way some words would be more accented than others and it was driving Thomas crazy.

How long has he been living without Newt?

He remembered when he and Minho had their first bonfire together here—Minho had sounded so sincere when he’d told him this place would be a good home for them. For the most part, it was. It was everything they’d been searching for. This was the place Newt had referred to when he told Thomas there was a place for them out there, somewhere. But both he and Minho knew that it wouldn't be home without Newt, it will never be.

“I miss you,” Thomas whispered, glancing up at the sky as if trying to convey his sorrow to Newt that way. It’s the first time he addressed the other boy like this, too. He repeated it, louder. “I miss you, Newt. Nothing is right here without you. I’m a mess, you know, and I’m trying, I'm trying so hard to be happy like you wanted me to be, but every time I say that, I know I'm lying because I don't want to live a life without you in it. I don't want to move on and forget you. I can't forget you. I can't do it, Newt, and—and I started to, a little, and I’m so scared one day you'll just be out of my memory. That I’ll wake up and I won't remember what you looked like, or the way your voice sounded, or any of your little quirks.

“I know it’s not just me, either. Minho tries a lot harder than me, but I know he blames himself for not running faster to get to you. He regrets never getting to say goodbye, but did any of us ever get the chance?” Thomas sighed, looking toward the moon, high and shining brightly, it’s reflection on the water vibrant and beautiful. “Brenda has nightmares about turning into a crank even with the cure flowing through her veins. Gally can't forgive himself for what he did to Chuck, despite it being all WCKD's fault, not his. Vince pretends to be fine, but everyone knows he sneaks into the kitchen to drink Gally’s terrible brews when he thinks no one will notice.”

And Newt’s voice whispered, softly, the words from the page practically engraved into Thomas’ brain: _The future’s in your hands now, Tommy. I know you’ll find a way to do what’s right. You always have. Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy._

“I’m sorry I’m not taking care of them the way you’d want me to,” Thomas told him gently, softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal. “I just can't lead without you. I’m not a good leader without you there to work out the kinks of each of my plans. I mean, there’s nothing _to_ plan anymore, but… I can't be what everyone expects me to be, without you.”

Then, Thomas surprised himself by laughing. It was a hollow laugh, one that had no trace of humour within it, but it was a ghost of a laugh that could have been real, had circumstances been different. If they’d been different, he’d have Newt here with him, laughing and calling him a _bloody idiot_ in that endeared voice he only used when talking to him.

“What kind of pathetic man does that make me, huh? I can’t be me without you.” Thomas chuckled bitterly. “Which is true. I don't know who I was before the maze, only bits and pieces, but ever since I came up that damned box, you were there to guide me. To help me. And I—” _loved you for it._

The words get lodged deep in his throat and he bowed his head in shame and regret. They could have had all the time in the world to deal with their feelings here, together, if Thomas hadn't messed up. What if he’d let Newt bite him? The cure was in his blood, it had to have helped him even a _little_. And yet, Thomas hadn't thought of that until it was too late, until a blade was sticking out of Newt’s chest and they were both tumbling to the ground.

“I wish we had more time, Newt. I wish you never caught the Flare and I wish you could have been immune to that hellish virus to begin with, and I wish I could have spoken up and told you I love you before it was too late.” Thomas said in one breath, sucking one in and talking slower to the dark sky. “I’m in love with you, Newt. Present tense, yeah. I don't think I’ll ever _not_ be in love with you, and I’m sorry I didn't tell you. I’m so sorry.

“I guess it’s a stupid confession to make, considering everyone always knew. I’m sure you knew, too.” Thomas laughed again, more genuinely, the bitterness gone this time, his chest feeling a little lighter. “Which begs the question, why didn't _you_ tell me? I get it though, shuck-face. You must have been terrified to even mention it. I know _I_ would have been if you were still here.” He paused, the reminder of Newt being gone making the tears return to his eyes. “God, Newt, I wish we had more time.”

And he caved in on himself, shoulders shaking with his silent tears. What else could he possibly do to make himself feel better? There was nothing at this safe haven that could even come close to being what Newt was to him; Newt was all the hope Thomas had personified, he was the good and the bad, he was a force to be reckoned with, the glue of their family. Thomas would never understand why anything—a god, or gods, or deities, or whatever higher power there was out there—would ever take Newt away from him, from _them_.

When Thomas calmed down again, he pursed his lips, as if his next thought would earn him an imaginary punch if worded wrong. “Sonya’s… well, there’s no simpler way to say this other than Sonya’s your sister. I thought… I thought you’d want to know that. She came up to me and told me when some of her memories started coming back, and—and, I promise I’ll take care of her for you. I can't take care of everyone or myself as well as I should, but I can do this for you.

“Maybe one day I’ll get to tell you about her.” Thomas smiled softly, his eyes wet as he watched the water ripple and crash against the shore. “You used to call her Lizzy.”

Thomas stayed silent for a while after that, just listening to the calming crescendo of the waves until the sun began to peek through the horizon. He stood up, dusting himself off.

“You said if you could do this all over again, you wouldn't change a thing and I guess that’s where you and I can agree to disagree because I’d change everything, somehow.” Thomas said, turning toward the Safe Haven, looking at all the huts in the distance. “I’d give away all of this, Newt, _all of it,_ just to have one more day with you.”

And with that, Thomas left the beach, making his way back to his hut before anyone woke up to see him.


End file.
